Haunt Me Baby One More Time
by guilea
Summary: The haunted house had a new family once again. The time to go through the motions had come. But something about the boy... was different. SoRiku, One-Shot, Ghost AU, Modern Day, Semi-Fluffy, Complete. Content Warning: Death (its got a ghost in it).


It certainly wasn't the most interesting part. The foolishly optimistic new residents moving into the haunted house. Oh, they'd heard the stories, the whispers from the locals when they arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to the little town near the little lake. The murmurs and guffaws at their foolishness. As with the rest, it rolled off their backs like water from a duck. Enthusiasm was such a common trait among them that their faces and names could be blurred together into one generic family unit, and none would be the wiser. There would always be another round of innocents willing to live under a legendary roof.

The agent had talked it down, the same spiel about what good shape the pipes were in, that the roof was practically new, oh, wasn't it wonderful how nice this house was for the price. Lakefront properties are so hard to come by this time of year, you'd be surprised how hard it is to find a place in this town. Oh, have we mentioned how great the school system is? Your kid will fit right in, we guarantee it. The same old, the same old.

Don't mind the floorboards, there are a few creaks, a cheap fix but it really drives the price down for you. A little light will really open up this room. Check out this view, the size of these bedrooms. Your dream home is just a few little personal touches away, we can't promise you enough! You can _hear_ the snake oil loosening their tongues, quieting the hinges as they closed the doors to their consciences so quietly. Slide over the tragedy.

White hair. A spectral gaze. Crossed arms. The eternal observer eyed the incoming family.

It had nearly become a game at this point, he supposed. Watching the new players step with a bag in each hand, as his form waited off to the side. Taking their unremarkable appearances and outward dispositions and contriving stories around them. Give them depth beyond what he would ever see. They never lasted, and it was almost worth wondering if he preferred it that way or not. Nearly a decade, perhaps more, he'd lost track. The house may have aged, but he didn't. It's not like a grandfather clock still chimed on the hour... He couldn't be bothered to reset the sway of the pendulum, if it were even still within these walls at all.

Habits die hard. Spirits die hard. Idle ponderings of which held truer fizzled out with the flame of interest. The sun hit the same window-shaped fading spaces on the floor at the same times each day. When had nature's bleach finally stolen the vibrant spirit from the painting that predated him in the hallway? A near-empty frame in the entrance, textured oil he could envision a fingertip tracing the flowing skirt of the woman on the swing. A palm on the textured layers of greenery, the observers stunned by her radiance. Who saw her now but the memory of something else stubbornly refusing to fade?

A habitual shake of a head to clear thoughts that lingered and festered, as if he could. If that were possible, he wouldn't be here at all.

 _But who had come to play this round?_

The first voice, deep and stubborn, stern. The phantom filled in an imaginative little story for the man. A father who _"didn't believe in this nonsense"_. Raised in a poor family that was dead-set in their ways. A hard, realistic set of parents who'd clenched each penny between their fingers like they were trying to phase through it. This house had been a steal, he'd fix it up himself to save a few dollars on a handyman. Each whine of a floorboard added up to the money he'd saved buying a place owned by a bank. Toss out the nostalgia fees and be willing to play a little hardball with the negotiations, and you've got your very own lakefront property. Practical. Easy to startle. Would never admit it.

 _Heh._

Softspoken, tender, a loving mother. So sweet and gentle, just wanting to _"make the best of this"_. She hadn't wanted to move, but was quietly pleasant in the company of the realtors and underwriters. Made them tea, cookies, would welcome you in with a soft smile if you came by to visit. Long hair tied back and out of the way, wearing dresses to her ankles, gingerly cradling her children as she rocked them in a rocking chair until they were finally too heavy to sit in her lap anymore. The shining beacon of domesticity, raised by a lovingly obedient mother of her own. She was used to making due, being passive in decision-making. Earnest. Hard to distress. Quiet and honest.

 _Heh heh._ _...well spook me upside the head._

The kid was a wiggly one, wasn't he. A little quirk of a smirk tugged at the corner of the phantom's lips as the final member of the household made his entrance. Admittedly, you didn't get the dumb ones quite as often. Typically, you saw those who were actively wetting their pants over the threshold at the concept of sharing a residence with someone beyond their understanding of life and death. But not him. Energy and smiles, a messy-haired ray of sunshine that lit up the room. The ground he stepped on took on a quality of excitement alongside him, or was that simply the creak of the floorboards as he bounced up and down in place, wide eyes taking in every tiny detail. Nearly catching flies with his gaping mouth. He'd be a tough nut to crack, that's for sure.

 _Heh heh heh._

It would be the dawn of a new day soon enough. Let the new "residents" set up their sleeping bags and dust off the old furniture, the relics of previous tenants. Go on, get comfortable. Take your chance to let the warmth of the sun shine through these windows and soak into your skin. Absorb the glisten of the coming moonlight on the water and the cool fall breeze rippling over the lake's surface and through your hair on the back porch. After all, it's a lovely place, right? ...what phase was the moon tonight? Or any night...?

The spectre mocked a yawn from habit and boredom. The waiting was the worst part, watching these new people in his house. _Placing their belongings in his rooms_ _like they own the--_ It was always the same selfishness or ignorance. A new family would be no different. But as will-o-wisp eyes glanced down at the family again, they made direct contact with the deep blue pools glittering with wonder that were attached to the boy. His form cocked an eyebrow in response.

 _Well, spook me sideways._ _This was unplanned._

The pause could have been another eternity, or a single beat of the boy's heart. It would have felt much the same, a tension as conflict swirled in the space between them. A conflict of overwhelming emotion, he assumed. Was the boy fearful? Distressed? Overjoyed? When the stillness came to an end, he still had no answers. The boy's body fell to his knees, and a single word fell from his lips alongside it. Likely a name. "Riku..."

Intrigued, he was drawn to his light, by that desperate cry of the name he didn't recognize, by the swell that filled the air between them. The phantom crossed the distance, observing with curiosity, circling the collapsed form and pausing when he looked up at the ghost with a smile through his tears. A mixed signal if he'd ever seen one, as the boy reached slowly for the translucent hand of the spirit, phasing through with a shuddering chill exploding outward through the human's body. The iciness of the figure seeping into his bones, but that smile didn't waver.

"Riku... it's Riku, Riku's here..."

 _Ri... ku...?_ _What... Who is Riku?_

"I looked for you. I looked _everywhere_ for you!" A new stream of salted emotion poured down reddening cheeks as a sense of urgency cracked the relief of his tone.

Another pause of-- time escaped completely-- Realization crept into the lingering fragment of the one the boy called for. He didn't see the pure, snow-white hair and aquamarine eyes that nearly glowed within his pale mirage of a face. This boy, he saw deep auburn locks falling messily over shoulders and face, bright green eyes glittering alongside him by the beach on a shining summer day. He saw... Ricky. The little boy that he'd once been, a life he'd lost track of, a memory that failed to attach to his spirit's restlessness.

 _He never could... say my name right..._ _I am... Riku._

And he was... a voice cut through the silence of his form. So foreign after all this time. How long had he spent in silence, in solitude, and how much longer had the boy? Would these words of comfort even reach his ears, could he force them into him like the shiver under his skin? Make him hear, make him _understand--_

"Come on, Sora. You've got to pull it together."

The shake of a messy brunette head. First gently, then a second time, harder. Cowlicked spikes shifting with his movements. "I finally found you... after all these years, what happened to--" he fell quiet, seeming to decide against his follow-up question. "I _missed_ you."

His mind reeled, a swirl of memories he grasped desperately to his previous self to take hold of. It had been perhaps a decade, yet here Sora was, attempting to hold the nearly-touchable air that surrounded the glowing outline of Riku's hand. Recounting those days together on the beach, splashing and playing and basking in the innocence of a simpler life. How many phone calls had gone to a dead number, a voicemail that no longer held a message after the tone? How many pen-pal letters on chalky lined paper had gone unanswered, filled with misspelled words and backwards letters and the sloppy handwriting of youth? How many babblings of their adventures had been recounted to other children, who either thought this kid from the other town was so cool and fun, or imaginary all along? Did Sora ever believe him to have been nothing more than a dream?

 _How many days of a child's light were erased?_

...from a vodka bottle swung just a little too hard at a toddler in the path of an angry father?

Though here he was still, form changing in response to Sora. How old, was he now? Fifteen? Could that be arranged? How solid... could he be?

 _Can I hold him...?_ _Just once..._

Before he had a chance to move, Sora threw his arms around the nearly-physical being of light. An ethereal embrace.

The ice of their touch melting away in a sob. Time would escape, but this peace never would.

 _Welcome home, Sora._ _Maybe... I can find peace after all._

 ** _linebreakwhatsthattastelike_**

 **A/N:**

 **So this is my "Ghost AU" entry to my #Cringefic Challenge! My first attempt at this was pretty abysmal, so I'm happy with how this one turned out.**

 **I've never writen SoRiku before, but this seemed like a good chance to try!**


End file.
